


Pillow for Three

by Quin



Category: Cinderella Phenomenon (Visual Novel)
Genre: Cuddling, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Hopeful Ending, Incest, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Sibling Incest, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21662188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quin/pseuds/Quin
Summary: When Rod suffers from the aftereffects of a magical item, Lucette and Emelaigne take care of him. And all of sudden, unexpected feelings come to surface.
Relationships: Lucette Riella Britton/Emelaigne Widdensov/Rod Benedikt Widdensov
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Pillow for Three

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonster/gifts).



“Earth to Lucette, earth to Lucette.”

Delora waves a hand in front of my face, but all I can do is stare past her. Stare at Rod’s pale face, his eyes only fluttering open from time to time, his lips tinted blue, his chest barely rising under the massive pile of duvets. In between all the bed clothes, Rod appears hopelessly lost. 

Seeing him all out cold makes me tremble. Anxiety on the rise, nerves setting in, it leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. My ears are buzzing, making me feel dizzy and swallowing half of what Delora has to say to me. 

“There’s nothing that we can do?” I repeat for the umpteenth time. “The court physician?” 

Delora shakes her head. 

“Rumpel? I mean Chevalier.” Delora shakes her head again. Only now I realise that the court physician and Chevalier are one and the same person anyway.

“Can’t be,” I breathe heavily. “What about me? Waltz You? Parfait?” I fire at Delora without giving her a true chance of answering me. Suddenly, the room feels hot and sticky even though Rod’s body is continuing to emanate waves of crisp air.

A small smile plays around Delora’s mouth which I find infuriating given the state Rod is currently in. Despite this, I bite my tongue when she takes my hand and leads me over to sit down on a chair. Not because I want to, but because I can’t utter another word. 

Delora pats my back as I shift around in the seat. “Lucette, calm down. This isn’t the end of the world.”

Delora’s words have the opposite effect. I don’t want to calm down. I finally manage to compose myself enough to speak again: “I shouldn’t have let Rod go out alone to the Marchen. I know he wanted to make sure that everyone was okay with this rumour about a witch sniffing around. But I am the Tenebrarum Bearer, I should have gone and dealt with that magical artefact the witch dropped.” I clench my fists.

Delora’s smile widens as she takes my hand and pries my fingers open again. 

“What are you smiling about?” I snap.

“It keeps making me happy to see how you’ve changed and become so responsible. But, your tone is still the same,” Delora laughs. Before I am able to retort anything, she quickly adds: “Are you ready to listen to me now?”

I sigh. “Only if it helps Rod.”

Delora rolls her eyes, but the smile stays on her face. “Of course, you silly. Parfait says she has seen the item before. It’s called a Weather Pillow.”

“What kind of name is that for a magical artefact?” I interrupt Delora despite my best intentions to keep my mouth shut. I expected something fancier for an item that has apparently turned Rod into a frost statue. 

“Look outside.” Delora inclines her head towards the window, and I am able to see snowflakes dancing outside the window. I have to admit they’re really pretty. They glitter and shimmer as they glide towards the earth which is already covered with a whiff of snow. Angielle hasn’t had much of a winter the last few years. It seems this is about to change.

Still, I am angry that the first snow in ages comes at Rod’s expense. I pull a face. “Alright, it’s a stupid pillow that turns rain into something like icy cotton wool. And because of this cheap trick Rod is suffering now?” 

“I assure you, Lucette, Rod will be okay. He just needs some time to get warm again. No spell can help that. The weather pillow belongs to a witch named Frau Holle,” Delora explains. “If you shake the pillow, it will release its magic into the air and paint the sky with whatever you desire: sunshine, dense clouds, fog, you name it. It’s a powerful tool: not only can you influence the harvest that way, you can also use it as an advantage against your enemies. Rain hail on them, call a blizzard to make them surrender faster, you get the picture here.” 

“I don’t understand,” I insist as anger mixed with fear starts to boil inside me again. “Is she an evil witch and Rod’s the enemy now? Why are we sitting here where we can do nothing for Rod but wait? Shouldn’t we be outside, confronting Frau Holle?”

“Patience, patience, Lucette. Your training would be going much faster if, once in a while, you listened all the way to the end.” Delora looks at me, slightly exasperated. 

I can’t help but shoot back: “A student is only as good as the teacher who teaches them.”

Delora clasps her hands as if sending a prayer to the heavens. “Yes, yes, yes. Back on topic. No, Frau Holle hasn’t been corrupted during the Great War. If Parfait vouches for her, that’s good enough for me. She is just a little mischievous, maybe like me? For all we know, it could have been an accident.” Delora shrugs. “Most magical items are not meant to be handled by humans. Could have been Frau Holle accidentally dropped her pillow and Rod wanted to be a gentleman. I am sure he’ll tell us once he is defrosted.”

“Um.” I am not quite convinced and start tapping my feet on the floor. “Why not go after Frau Holle and just talk to make sure she’s not out of line?”

“I can do that.” I am surprised how quickly Delora agrees, but then she drops the big but. “You stay here though.”

“I am the Tenebrarum Bearer. Shouldn’t she answer to me?” My neck vein starts throbbing. 

“Exactly. And you’re biased because you love Rod. Your emotions will get in your way and that could cause tension we don’t need right now among us witches.” Delora crosses her arms and doesn't budge a single inch. “Rod is important to me, too, Lucette. Don’t forget it. Let me check on Frau Holle.”

I regard Delora’s posture. She absolutely means it. Deep down, I know she is right, but still this drives me insane. “I hate doing nothing,” I declare. “Can’t I make a potion? Go through the books and look for a spell that might work after all?”

“Sadly not. If you’re not the creator of a magical artefact or really familiar with it, interfering with the item’s magic could potentially be very dangerous. Don’t risk it. Promise me, Lucette.” Delora’s smile has vanished, having been replaced by a deadly serious expression.

I grit my teeth. “I’ll promise, Delora, if you give me some task to take my mind off worrying.” 

Delora ponders for a moment. “I guess, when Rod wakes up, he could do with a hot drink and a warm meal. Why don’t you prepare something for him? I’ve always appreciated Parfait cooking me some energizing food when I was down with a cold.”

“I can’t cook.” I throw my arms into the air, unnerved. Delora, however, has already left. I get up to check how Rod is doing. His condition is unchanged. Yet I feel the need to tuck him more firmly in. I brush a strand of Rod’s hair out of his face. My palm grazes his cheek and I shiver a little bit when the coldness of his skin seeps in. I don’t remove my hand, though. It takes a moment until I sense that Rod is warming up to my touch. Just a little. 

I should trust Delora about Rod getting well, about clarifying the matter with Frau Holle. Apart from the Fairy Tale curse – which in retrospect wasn’t that bad, because without it Rod and I would have never fallen in love with each other – she has never lied to me or gone behind my back. 

It is not proper for a princess to chew her nails. So instead of giving into this strange urge, I start pacing the room, mulling over what Delora has told me. Abruptly, the door knob turns. It can’t be Delora, but who else would open a prince’s door without asking?

I prepare to give them a piece of my mind for disturbing Prince Rod on his sickbed, when Emelaigne bursts in. Her face is rosy from agitation. She flutters towards her brother’s side.

“Oh Lucette, you are already here,” she chirps as she sees me. “I met Delora outside and she briefly told me what happened. I had to immediately come here and check on Rod’s wellbeing myself. You think he’ll be fine?”

Knowing she is a sensitive one, I don’t have the heart to make Emelaigne worry more. I refrain from voicing my doubts. Instead I tell her: “Well, Delora says it will take some time, but Rod will recover.”

However, being a sensitive one, Emelaigne is very good at reading between the lines. “But you’re still afraid?”

I come to a halt. Suddenly, I have a lump in my throat. I only manage to nod, being unable to move my lips or anything else. Despite everything that has happened since I lifted my Fairy Tale curse, I have trouble to this day showing weakness in front of other people. Mother has instilled the image of an inviolable regal and it’s so hard to let go of it. 

That doesn’t stop Emelaigne. She turns around and pulls me in for a hug. Her embrace is full of warmth. I am really glad it’s her. Emelaigne has a heart of gold, going out of her way to accommodate everyone around her. She patiently holds me until my body muscles slowly start to loosen up.

“Delora suggested I should go to the kitchen to distract myself. Have a warm meal ready as soon as Rod opens his eyes. I just don’t want to ask any of the servants,” I start babbling. “I am sure I will manage, but Rod is supposed to be excellent at cooking and what if he doesn’t like my soup?”

I groan inwardly. I made it sound like Rod is overly picky. Of course I’ve fallen back into old habits and blame my insecurities on someone else, namely on the one person I love. I want to be the one who does something for Rod and it’s frustrating not being able to rely on my magical abilities as a witch. Asking an undercook to do the work is not an option. 

I can’t even put my thoughts together in a coherent sentence. Is asking Emelaigne for help cheating? Do I want to ask Emelaigne for help? How do I word my request without sounding like the old Lucette, the person I don’t want to be any longer while I am still on my way into finding a new Lucette? A Lucette who is comfortable with showing weakness, who can accept that everybody has deficiencies small and not so small which doesn’t necessarily mean they are going to be exploited? 

Emelaigne has let go of me, seemingly not wanting to overstep my boundaries for privacy. However, I keep leaning onto her shoulder. For a moment, we both are lost deep into our thoughts. Finally, Emelaigne says: “It doesn’t have to be perfect, you know?”

“I know it is the gesture that counts.” My face obviously shows that I am not content with that idea. 

Emelaigne chews on her bottom lip. “What if I accompanied you to the pantry, showed you where everything you need is stored and stayed with you for some advice? I won’t touch anything; you would carry out all the steps. It wouldn’t be that different from looking them up in a cooking book, right?”

She looks at me, hope shining in her eyes. Underneath her gaze I feel my doubts beginning to crumble away. Emelaigne continues to astonish me. Relentless is not the word people would use to describe her, yet I think she is relentless in her pursuit to be compassionate and supporting. Unlike me, Emelaigne doesn’t sort requests for help in categories like ridiculous, over the top or too demanding. Emelaigne will be there no matter what. 

Before the silence can carry on too long, Emelaigne adds: “That is, if you think we can leave Rod alone for a moment.” She offers me an easy way out, so that I don’t have to make up an excuse if I want to decline her suggestion.

“Well, I’m going to blame Delora if Rod wakes up before we return.” I look one more time at Rod. My heart beats a little faster. If the light doesn’t deceive me, his facial complexion appears to be a tad rosier now. This is all I need. I put my hands on my hips and straighten my back, signalling to Emelaigne my agreement.

She smiles softly and I can’t help but smile back. I need to remind myself more often that I don’t have to do things on my own anymore. In fact, I need to remember that it does feel better to share joy, pain and the everydayness of life. 

Once we arrive in the palace kitchen, Emelaigne unerringly fetches a jug of milk and a jar of fir honey from the adjacent pantry. She takes a pot out of a cupboard and places it next to the food. 

I clear my throat. “This doesn’t look like ingredients for a soup. What are you planning, Emelaigne?”

Emelaigne isn’t thwarted by my impatient tone. Instead she pulls out a small bag of spices. “I thought we could start off with something simpler, but equally effective.”

I raise an eyebrow. 

“You’ll get to taste it first and then you’ll see I didn’t make an empty promise, Lucette.”

“All right. I guess the milk goes into the pot with the spices and the honey?” This can’t be too difficult. Emelaigne wiggles her head though. 

“Yes and no. Yes, pour the milk into the pot and put it over to the fire.” Emelaigne hands me the pot. It is heavier than I expected. I nearly drop it. Emelaigne gently steadies my arm and together we manage to shove its handle over the hook of the hearth’s fire. I lift the jug and empty it into the pot in one pour, not wanting to make the same mistake as with the pot. The milk surges forward, droplets splashing my dress and my face.

I groan, but Emelaigne just giggles. She wipes some milk from the corner of my mouth.

“Don’t pout, Lucette. You look adorable.” 

I try to pout some more. However, Emelaigne sees right through me. She takes the jug off me while continuing to giggle. Her mood is infectious and I have to laugh as well. Spilling a bit of milk is no big deal, right?

Finally, Emelaigne catches her breath. “Here.” She gives me a large wooden spoon. “Now, you fill half of the spoon with the spices and then stir them into the milk. Keep stirring until the milk has absorbed the spices and it has warmed up.”

“How do I know when it’s the right moment?” I open the bag and let some crumbs fall out. I’ve heard that spices are kind of expensive, so I expected something more spectacular-looking.

“You just will,” Emelaigne attempts to assure me. I shrug and do as Emelaigne has instructed me. If I could buy patience, I would. Once more, nothing seems to happen. I don’t want to cook the soup anymore if this hot drink already takes ages to finish up. 

Minutes seem to trickle by and my arm starts to hurt from the stirring. I want to give up when suddenly my nose is hit with a heavenly smell. I am not sure what it is, but the air is filled with a mantle of warmth, clouding my senses. The milk smells sweetly of comfort, and beneath it, the layers of spices flourish as their heavy scents engulf me. Somewhere deep inside me a distant memory is shaken loose: a memory of a time back when I was younger, hurting until someone came along carrying that soothing smell, taking the edge off my pain. 

Thanks to what my mother did to me, I am unable to fully reconstruct that memory. She would have left it to me if it had been her, but as it appears to be fragmented, it must have been someone else. Someone who cared for me; even might have loved me. I can’t undo the past; nevertheless I can make today count if I can only pass a fragment of that comfort on to Rod.

I’ve almost forgotten Emelaigne is there when she taps my shoulder. She has a tray with three mugs in front of her on the counter. She beams encouragingly at me, although I don’t need encouragement. This time to avoid making a splash again, I carefully spoon the spiced milk into the mugs. Afterwards, I immediately want to get going, but Emelaigne holds up the fir honey jar.

“We have to wait until the milk cools down a bit.”

Agitated, I roll my eyes. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Emelaigne nods. “All the goodness and the curative power that is in the honey will be destroyed if the liquid is too hot.”

I mutter under my breath, hoping that Emelaigne doesn’t notice, but she is watching me with bright eyes.

“What?” I snap. “I want to return to Rod’s side. I don’t want to be at fault when he wakes up and nobody is there to answer his questions.”

“You’re too cute, Lucette.” Emelaigne delicately blows on the surface of the milk to make it cool down faster. “Rod is lucky to have you. I wish I had someone, too.” Emelaigne abruptly bites her tongue, blushes and pays overly much attention to removing the honey jar’s lid.

There is a strange flutter in my stomach I can’t quite place. Emelaigne deserves all the happiness in the world. After growing so close while being under the Fairy Tale Curse, I just can’t imagine daily life without Emelaigne’s cheerful presence. On the other hand, I also can’t imagine someone whom I would deem good enough for Emelaigne. I feel a sting upon imagining that some ridiculous self-conceited prince takes her someday away from Angielle, out of my reach. No way.

I say nothing. Instead I graze her arms when I reach for the fir honey. Emelaigne shivers, and then releases the pot, so I can take it. She turns around to retrieve a set of teaspoons from a drawer. I successfully remove the lid and Emelaigne adds a drizzle of honey to each mug. Once she is done, she passes the sweetened milk to me.

Emelaigne’s hand is steady, though her voice quivers a bit as she tells me: “Be careful, I think it’s still quite hot.”

“Thank you.” I take a small sip, then another. I have high expectations after the scent of the spices lulled me in, but even my expectations aren’t a match for the sensory explosion in my mouth. The enriched milk swirls, lusciously stroking my taste buds. There is a soft prickle on my tongue while the honey’s creaminess feels soothing against my throat. I can’t quite believe I managed to create this drink having never touched anything in either the royal or the Marchen’s kitchen before. 

I make eye contact with Emelaigne, who looks at me expectantly. “It’s really delicious. I very much appreciate your help.”

Emelaigne’s face once more lights up even though I find that my thanks sounded rather dull and monotonous. I wish I had some way to transform my savoury experience into the appropriate words. I wonder if Emelaigne would understand if she could take a sample from my mouth. My brain comes to an abrupt halt as I realise where my thoughts are taking me. Why I am standing here asking myself without any warning if Emelaigne tastes as sweet as the milk she instructed me making, as sweet as the person she is.

I am sure my cheeks are burning up right now. I cough to signal myself that I must focus on the task at hand. “We should go back to Rod. Otherwise, this will become cold.”

Before Emelaigne can say something, I return my mug to the tray, and then I pick the latter up and start walking towards Rod’s bedchamber. If only Rod had a fever, then I could tell myself his illness has infected me, messing with my brain. I am a hundred percent sure that I love Rod, so why and how do I feel myself drawn to his sister as well? Maybe I am overworked (I can already hear Delora’s nixing cackle).

Emelaigne hurries ahead of me, holding the door open. As chance would have it, the moment we enter, Rod stirs in bed. For now I forget about Emelaigne and my confusion. I drop the tray on the night stand. The mugs dangerously skitter around – I couldn’t care less. 

“Rod, you’re awake!” I settle down on the mattress. “How are you feeling?”

Rod squints, then slowly stretches his limbs. I prop a cushion beneath his back, so that he is able to sit properly. 

“Lucette, Emelaigne.” he rasps. I take one of the mugs and offer it to Rod. He brings his arm up in slow-motion, shaking uncoordinated before it falls back into his lap. It’s as if part of him is still frosted. I bring up the mug to his lips. Although Rod rolls his eyes, he opens his mouth and drinks the spiced milk in small sips. After a while, he takes the cup, knocking my hands aside. He drowns the last of the hot drink in one go. I take the mug back to place it on the tray.

“I am not a child, I can do this alone,” he grumbles. However, I know him well enough to recognize that he doesn’t mean it this way - that he’s probably embarrassed to have his sister and me make a fuss about him.

Ignoring his grouch, I adjust his main blanket. “How about thank you for bringing me this divine nectar, Lucette?” I retort.

“She went all out of her way to make this for you, Rod,” Emelaigne chimes in as she approaches the bed. 

“Oh.” Rod raises an eyebrow.

“Didn’t expect this?” I comment in a deadpan tone. 

Rod shakes his head. “I guess I’m just surprised.” He looks affectionately at me. “But I like how you keep surprising me.”

“That’s a good thing then,” I sigh. “I hope I can keep up the pace.”

“Honestly, this was even better than the honeyed milk Emelaigne used to make me. Sorry, Em.” Rod is trying to make amends. I reckon that my expression showed a little disappointment regarding the appreciation of my newest culinary achievement. 

Emelaigne sits on the other side of the bed. “No worries,” she reassures him, “as long as you’re improving, Lucette and I are both happy.”

“Well, I have to admit I had Emelaigne’s help.” I shrug.

“I just summed the steps up for Lucette, she worked all the magic – well, not real magic, kitchen magic – herself.” Emelaigne again does her best to make me shine in front of her brother. It seriously warms my heart.

Rod sits up, grasps a second mug of the spiced milk and empties it.

“Hey,” I exclaim, “that was mine!”

“Still not satisfied?” Rod smirks. “I just wanted to show you how much I enjoyed your work.”

Emelaigne chuckles. “You can have my milk, Lucette. Rod’s not a man of many words. He likes being the mysterious prince.”

Rod huffs at Emelaigne’s description, which just makes it more fitting to me. She is right, indeed. I’ve no reason after all to be a sorehead.

“So seriously, how are you doing?” Emelaigne repeats my question from earlier on. 

I shift around the mattress. I need to ease my mind. “What do you remember from meeting that witch, Frau Holle? Was she truly as harmless as Delora said?”

“I am fine,” Rod insists, trying to give Emelaigne and me a nonchalant look. It’s not quite convincing, though, as I observe him shivering despite having the large heavy blanket all to himself. 

Rod knows me too well by now as he adds: “No need to interfere, Lucette. I have no idea what you discussed with Delora, but you can tell her it was an accident. Elderly lady with a young girl in tow, she had to carry everything and dropped her cushion. Her companion refused to pick it up, so I did. I was clueless that she was a witch and by the time she told me off, it was too late. She and the girl did get into a huge argument and then I must have lost consciousness.”

I recount my conversation with Delora. Rod attentively listens to everything I have to say. Finally, he concludes: “See, nothing to get worked up here. You need to relax more, Lucette.”

I groan loudly. “I don’t want to relax more when it concerns you, Rod. You’re still cold as ice.”

“How can I be after your delicious drink?” A smug expression appears on Rod’s face. I wish he wasn’t so damn stubborn, but I guess that’s what happens when two stubborn people want to stand their ground.

Luckily, I’ve Emelaigne as my support. She leans forward. “I agree with Lucette. You are freezing.”

She slightly wrinkles her forehead, thinking. “Remember when we lived back in town, after father had died and before mother started working in the bakery, we all slipped into bed together to keep each other warm during a long, hard winter?” 

“Ehm, yes?” Rod strokes his chin. I reckon he has certain qualms about what his sister is implying. Meanwhile, Emelaigne stifles a yawn, removes her shoes and slips under the covers with her brother.

Rod flushes. “Em, we’re not children anymore.”

I almost can’t believe the innocent gaze Emelaigne is giving Rod, but then she seems to be truly oblivious to her embarrassing her brother. I am not oblivious, and even so I follow suit, cuddling up to Rod.

At first, Rod stiffens up. 

“Relax,” I whisper into his ear. “Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t bite.”

“I am not so sure about this.” He moves closer, wrapping his arms around me. I don’t flinch as I feel the cold emanating from him. 

I gently poke Rod who is trying to get as close to me as possible – or as far away as possible from his sister. “But Emelaigne does?”

“Bite? Of all the people, why would she?” For a moment, Rod looks truly perplexed. He turns his head around, looking past his shoulder. I follow his gaze and see that Emelaigne’s eyelids have fluttered shut. She is softly breathing and her face is the innocence of a pure angel. She must have been quite tired after all.

“Because you moved away from her like she does; or like she has the pest,” I point out, carefully stroking his side.

Rod tenses up again. “It feels inappropriate to lie with my sister in my bed.”

“With your sisters,” I correct him. Before Rod is able to utter a reply, I shush him with a finger on his lips. “I am aware that there are differences between sister by blood and sister by family ties, but for the outside world a sister is a sister.”

I prop up an elbow, observing him intensely. “Why are you focusing so much on what’s wrong with Emelaigne sleeping in your bed?”

“It’s not the sleeping in my bed; it’s the suggestion of her keeping me warm. It’s not like I’m going to die if she doesn’t warm me up,” Rod exclaims hot-headedly.

“Shush, you’re going to wake her up.” 

Rod scowls at me, to which I respond by pressing a kiss to his mouth. It is a good cover for hiding my smirk. An idea is forming into my mind. One I can’t let go of. Maybe it is just me projecting my sudden attraction to Emelaigne, interpreting Rod’s uneasiness to share a bit of warmth with Emelaigne as the same attraction. Anyway, I’m itching to know more and there’s one way to find out: to simply keep teasing Rod.

“See, now you’re the one who needs to relax. You’re not going to die either if Emelaigne keeps you warm. Two are better than one, right? Nobody besides us knows what we’re up to right now anyway.”

Rod’s eyes boggle. Whoops. In the moment I said it, I might have felt bolder than I actually am.

“Two are better than one?” he repeats, incredulously. 

I have to backtrack fast. “Forget what I said. Maybe this day and worrying about you has simply been getting to me.”

I want to get up, but Rod reaches for me. “Be honest with me, what’s really bothering you?

“Do you ever have thoughts pop up in your head, seemingly out of nowhere, and you don’t know why you’re thinking them? You don’t want to think them, but the more you want them to go away, the more they stick?”

Rod scratches his head. “Would it help if you shared them with me? Sometimes a second opinion helps you dissolve your worries.”

I remain silent. Rod has also evaded answering my question. I’ve come to open up a lot more since I have removed my Fairy Tale curse, but to share my embarrassing out-of-the-blue thoughts with the people that are directly involved? I peek once more to the other side of the bed where Emelaigne is still slumbering, blissfully unaware of Rod’s and my conversation. 

Rod is following my gaze. “It’s about Emelaigne,” he discerns, and I secretly curse his ability to notice small details and subtle hints. I guess my own scheme has backfired at me pretty quickly.

“Yes. You don’t need to trouble yourself. I’ve changed and I would never ever do something to hurt Emelaigne,” I swear, appealing to the protective brother that Rod certainly is despite being the younger one.

“And what if I trouble myself for your sake, Lucette?” Rod manages to pull me back down onto his bed. “You don’t need to defend yourself, I’ve been with you on your journey, remember? I can be concerned for both you and Emelaigne. As you both are for me.”

I still hesitate. “What if that concern clashes? What if they contradict each other? What if with one choice I make, I rule out the other? Or I end up hurting someone without even wanting it? The return of the ice princess.”

Suddenly, I realise the irony of this situation. The nickname the people of Angielle used for me, Rod being deep-frozen by Frau Holle’s Weather Pillow and my sudden feelings for Emelaigne. If I had gone outside instead of him, none of this would have happened. 

“Even if I am not a person of many words, please don’t shut me out.” Rod is looking at me in earnest, piercing my heart. The way he holds my gaze reminds me how much I love him. This is almost too much for me.

I take a deep breath. “If I had gone to the Marchen instead of you, you would have never gotten hurt and I would have never gone with Emelaigne to the kitchen to make spiced milk for you…” I trail off.

“… and never realised you had feelings for Emelaigne you’re not supposed to have,” Rod finishes my sentence. 

I stare at him, shell-shocked. I want to say something, but I can’t even manage to stammer a single word. No question, no denial, nothing.

Strangely, Rod doesn’t seem shaken at all. He raises himself up a bit, so he can embrace me from behind. He’s much warmer than I expected and despite my guilt about having feelings for both him and Emelaigne, Rod hugging me is oddly comforting.

“How?” I eventually manage to croak. 

Rod rests his chin on top of my head. His voice is steady, serene as he tells me: “I am not oblivious to the people that are most important to me. I could tell that you were falling for Em before you probably were aware of it. That in between your training and spending time with me, you always chose to spend time with her. That you always involve Em in our activities, you’re often reaching for her hand and that you’ve scared away every single one of her potential suitors visiting us in the last months.”

I need a moment to ponder Rod’s words. I am far from being an expert on interpersonal relationships. Nevertheless, it’s true what he says. I like spending time with Delora, Parfait and the rest of the crew I met at the Marchen, but if I have to decide with whom I want to spend the rest of my life it is Rod _and_ Emelaigne. Maybe my subconsciousness has refrained from bringing this up so far because I don’t want to be forced to make a decision between the two of them. I never realised that I was so obvious though.

As soon as I open my mouth, I am aware I sound pathetic. However, I have to say something after all.

“Look Rod, I am sorry. I never meant to hurt your feelings, nor do I plan to mess with Emelaigne’s…” I run out of words, if there were ever words that fit this kind of situation.

I’d expected that Rod would have withdrawn himself from me or pushed me away by now. Yet he is there, stroking my sides. 

He surprises me when he says, “I’ve been thinking about this for some time. I didn’t want to bring this up with you until I understood how I felt about you and me and how Emelaigne fits into this picture.”

“And to what conclusion did you come?” There is no use in drawing out the inevitable. Even though I am uncertain what the inevitable is as Rod doesn’t act like someone who wants to break-up or/and start a fight.

“I was thinking about why certain aspects of life seem to force you between choosing one or the other when it isn’t really necessary. Do I choose between being friends just with Parfait and not with Delora as well? No. So why should you have to choose between me and Em?” 

Rod’s expression is serious. The Rod I know and love is not a person who makes light-hearted jokes about relationship matters.

Nevertheless, I have to reassure myself: “But wouldn’t you be… aren’t you jealous? What if in your opinion I suddenly start to devote too much time to Emelaigne?”

I am surprised to see that there is a blush starting to spread on Rod’s face. 

“Uhm.” It’s him who is fumbling for words now. It kind of puts me on the edge, but Rod’s hold on me is quite firm. 

“Remember when I got worked up about Emelaigne keeping me warm in my own bed?”

How could I forget? It was only minutes ago. Still, I nod. Trying to work on being patient, I take Rod’s left hand in mine and squeeze it to encourage him to continue talking. 

“I felt put under a spotlight in that moment and well, Em is more than my sister to me. So when our relationship is already deemed wrong, what does that mean for Em and me? How much further down the road do I want to get? I thought it would be enough to hold you close, Lucette. But my mind keeps wanting more, keeps thinking about having with Em what I have with you.”

Rod pauses a moment to catch his breath. My head is already spinning, trying to catch up with what he is telling me.

“Wait a moment.” I take the chance to interrupt him. “Do I get you right that you’re fine with me being in a relationship with you and Emelaigne, but it’s wrong for you to want her, too?”

“Correct.” Rod absentmindedly plays with a strand of my hair. “It’s just that seeing how you grew closer with Em made me realise that my feelings for her run deeper. And don’t you think about apologising for not paying attention to your own feelings for her.”

I play it cool, but of course Rod is right. “As if I ever apologise for anything.”

Rod snorts and when I turn my head, I can see him rolling his eyes. “Well, now you know the story behind my behaviour.”

Somehow I can’t actually believe it. And at the same time I can. I would like to blame it on Frau Holle and her Weather Pillow, but then all this would have probably come to light at another occasion. 

“Do you have any clue what Emelaigne thinks? If she reciprocates your feelings?”

“I would believe she reciprocates yours. About me…” Rod shrugs. “That isn’t really important when nothing good will come of it anyhow.”

I lean against Rod for more support as I attempt to sort out my mixed and his mixed feelings. I don’t currently want to wake up Emelaigne. It’s not that I plan to leave her out, but the whole affair is already confusing enough as it is. I reckon once Rod and I have worked out where we stand we can involve Emelaigne. Everything will be much clearer for her if she doesn’t have to sort through our feelings.

My intuition, though, tells me that being a person who follows her heart, Emelaigne won’t have as much trouble with her feelings as her brother or I. Sure, she also has her doubts, but it is as if her caring, selfless nature is a guiding star for her. If she can help and nobody gets hurt, Emelaigne will be there. And I bet the side of her that falls in love isn’t any different.

In retrospect, Rod is right when he assumes that Emelaigne has feelings for me as well. There have been little hints of it, even in the kitchen when we prepared the spiced milk. But she might have been holding back, too, for the sake of not interfering with Rod’s and my relationship. 

Now all I can do is wonder if Emelaigne wanted a romantic relationship with her brother. Her heart is certainly big enough for two people.

I don’t want to leave Rod to any dark thoughts, so I share my musings with him. “I agree with you about what you said earlier; that things don’t have to be exclusive. If you are fine with me sharing feelings for you and for Emelaigne, how can I not be fine with you doing the same? And I daresay it’s not much more an effort to keep a secret when we all already have been keeping your and my relationship a secret.”

“You do have a point, Lucette,” Rod admits. “However, isn’t this all a bit sudden and too much?”

I move slightly around, so I can face him. “I understand that you’re having second thoughts, but what if we take it step by step?” 

I motion towards Emelaigne. “My gut tells me she subconsciously has feelings for you, too. I mean even though she seemed to be super innocent about keeping you warm, I guess in some way it was her subconscious talking to get her closer to you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Rod sighs, his breath suddenly turning heavy. “I am sorry, Lucette. I don’t know if it’s the aftereffects of the Weather Pillow, thinking about feelings and relationships or all such things, but I’m really tired. I guess I need to sleep for my brain to be able to process anything again.”

I smile a little at Rod. “I understand. I’m tired, too. But hear me out just once more. How about we lie down with Emelaigne in between us? Us under all these piles of blankets, keeping each other warm? Relishing in each other’s proximity, drawing strength from the comfort of the people that matter most to us?”

As Rod arranges himself around Emelaigne, embracing her carefully from behind, I can see it in his eyes that my proposition was too good to resist. Emelaigne sighs happily in her sleep and Rod’s eyes light up before they flutter shut as well.

I roll over to where Emelaigne is lying in the middle and settle against her chest. Soon, all I listen to is steady breathing. I enjoy the silence as finally my thoughts are beginning to calm down. My muscles start to relax as well as I inhale Emelaigne’s sweet scent. There is still the smell of milk, honey and spices on her intermixed with her personal flowery scent. It eases my mind, making me hopeful.

Emelaigne and Rod have given me their strength numerous times. Not only to work through my Fairy Tale curse, but also on this day Rod has helped me unravel my feelings. He has planted the idea in my head that we don’t have to choose between one and the other. And now I will make sure that he will see that the same principle applies to him. I’ve fed him some arguments that surely will grow on him as time passes. Plus I am convinced Emelaigne will aid my quest to enlighten her brother.

Sleep itself has magical powers. Thus I don’t resist when it comes to claim me. I happily succumb, being aware that once we all wake up, we can make this relationship of three work. 

As my head joins Rod’s and Emelaigne’s on the pillow, I see the snow dancing outside the window. Three beautiful crystals settle on the pane, the flakes slightly overlapping each other.

With a content smile I close my eyes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Sanity for the beta.


End file.
